


Wedding Song

by Cari2812



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Divorce, F/M, Fluff, Pining, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Dancing, drunk, tipsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 08:29:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cari2812/pseuds/Cari2812
Summary: Some inner monologue. Some alcohol. Some dancing.





	Wedding Song

**Author's Note:**

> We needed more cliche. It was time to break out the SlowDanceFicTM. You're welcome.

Cormoran Strike had spent the last six months in a peculiar state of soul-searching. He’d never been one to contemplate emotions too intensely, opting rather to experience them quietly and swiftly move on. He’d comfortably operated under this system for years since he and Charlotte finally parted ways, and while some – mostly women - found it abrasive that he wasn’t keen on deep and meaningful heart-to-hearts, it had stood him in relatively good stead. He was free and detached, and happy that way. “No man is an island”, but he had been quite content to be the most remote Hebridean island imaginable. 

Robin Ellacott, however, knew that she felt things far too deeply. She’d always been sensitive in spite of her determined nature, something which had earned her the teasing of her brothers growing up. While she was often able to harness her emotional side to her advantage at work, often gaining trust and respect far more quickly and easily than Strike, she was also forced to admit that her unshakeable sense of empathy got her into far more scrapes than was necessary or safe. Cormoran worried about her, even feared for her. He’d often contemplated at what point he went from merely being aware of Robin, appreciating her as a colleague and a friend, to the point where the idea of her coming to harm made his heart pound with rage. 

“Falling” in love, he had come to realise, had not earned that name flippantly. It felt in every sense like falling headlong from a great height; the uncontrollable, heart-stopping, never ending nature of it. The defences he’d so carefully built were dismantling brick by painful brick, until he was forced to reconcile with the tsunami of emotion that had crashed against those very walls for so long. With every look that lasted a beat too long, every awkward hug that became less and less awkward each time, and every single long night spent in one another’s company, protectiveness and desire rose within the pit of his stomach, testing the bonds of restraint. He found himself more and more readily willing to admit that, perhaps, denying himself even a shot at happiness was maybe just a little self-sabotaging. And so, the period of soul-searching ended with the decision to take that shot, even if it were to ricochet back to his own scarred heart. 

*

On the third Friday of October, Cormoran sat in his BMW in a street in Belgravia. Absently, he remarked to himself that even the wettest London autumn on record didn’t touch the more affluent parts of town. Back in Denmark Street, the rain and constant trample of feet had turned fallen leaves into slippery mulch that wreaked havoc on his leg. Here in the quiet suburbs of Belgravia, the leaves lay perfectly formed on the pavements, as though the council had placed them there for autumnal decoration. 

He was keeping watch on a twenty-five-year-old exotic dancer, on behalf of her incredibly wealthy, and incredibly paranoid, middle-aged boyfriend. He paid her rent for the plush apartment she lived in in this part of town but was convinced that she was entertaining far more gentleman callers than just himself. Considering Strike had witnessed no less than four different men, none of whom were the client, entering the apartment, and exiting some two hours later each time, he was prepared to be the bearer of bad news. 

While sat in the car, enjoying the warmth from the heater, Cormoran’s thoughts, as they so often did, turned to Robin. He knew how important today was for her, and how much courage it took from her. The death rattling throes of her marriage had brought out a new side of Robin that he had never seen. When Matthew had been at his most obstructive, petulant and demanding and obtuse, she only seemed to grow calmer, as though his actions only served to make her increasingly sure that her decision to cut and run had been the correct one. She spoke to him only over the phone, in the same calm and measured tone that one would reserve for children or the mentally deranged, explaining succinctly that while she was keeping the Land Rover, he was free to whatever else he pleased, including, as he had demanded, each and every individual item of jewellery he had purchased for her. He seemed Hell-bent to leave her with no money nor assets to sell. But Robin, who by this point just wished him out of her life for good, was willing to render herself penniless and destitute so long as she didn’t have to endure another second of being harangued over the telephone. As soon as Matthew finally realised there was no battle to be fought, the final stages of the divorced proceeded rather clinically, with both parties barely uttering a word to one another as they met during Matthew’s lunch break to sign the final papers. Their marriage had begun in a beautiful church in Masham and ended in a Costa Coffee in London. As a final testament to how much of a mistake the marriage had been, Robin left the coffee shop a great deal happier than she had left the aforementioned church eighteen months prior, even stopping in an off-license on the way back to the office and splashing out on a bottle of champagne.

Strike returned from surveillance that evening to find she was still pottering about in the office. The cheap standard desk lamp was the only light on in the room, and a playlist of classic love songs was playing softly from her computer. He found her in the tiny kitchenette, having anticipated his arrival, pouring the champagne she had bought into two mugs, proffering one of them to him. 

“A toast,” she declared, raising her mug aloft, “to a successfully failed marriage.”

They clinked mugs and took long sips.

“Finally over, then” he grinned “congratulations, Robin.”

She beamed back at him.

“Thanks! It went pretty well, I mean, as far as signing on the dotted line can go. Just waiting on the decree absolute and then that’s it, I’m an Ellacott once again,” she looked down at her feet, “can’t come quick enough,” she said, quietly. He knew that her mirth covered a genuine exhausted sadness. She was worn out, she’d lost weight. He had been worried about her. Nothing new there.

“Well,” Cormoran said brightly, in an effort to pick up the slight frown that had arrived on her face, “I can’t celebrate broken wedding vows on an empty stomach. What’s say we try that new Thai takeaway? My treat, of course.” The sheepish grin he received in return caused a swirl of affection to crash against those inner walls yet again. The barriers had started to spring a leak, but instead of running to fetch buckets and stem the flow, he allowed the gentle trickle, trickle, trickle.

When the food arrived they ate it from the takeout containers, sat at either end of the farting couch. Cormoran, who didn’t much care for champagne, but was polite enough to share a mug in celebration, had retrieved a four-pack of lager from his flat, leaving Robin with the rest of the entire bottle of champagne, meaning she was already tipsy. After three of his cans, his tongue had loosened considerably.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked, before he could stop himself, “marry him, I mean.”

His question caught her off-guard. She said nothing for a long moment, until he thought she had chosen to ignore him. Then, after a deep breath, she spoke purposefully, as though she’d rehearsed this answer countless times before. 

“When I met him, I was a different person. I was happy to live up to his dreams, his goals. He spoke for me, made all the decisions, and I was okay with it. Even after the…,” she paused, “even after what happened, I just let him sort of…take over. When I married him, I think I was hoping I’d somehow magically return to being that girl who was happy to follow blindly. But I didn’t want to follow any more. I wanted to make my own rules. I’ve changed,” she lifted her head and dragged her champagne-glazed eyes up to meet his, “I think that had a lot to do with you.” 

Their eyes remained fixed together. He could hear his heart somewhere near his mouth. The walls within gave way and the flood sprang forth. 

It had to be tonight. 

The playlist clicked on to the next song, and just as Cormoran was plucking up the courage to reach for her hand, she flung her head back in laughter, throwing both hands over her mouth to stifle the giggles. He chuckled slightly, confused. 

“Robin, what…?” he began to ask, trailing off as she composed herself. 

“Do you not remember? This song, it’s my wedding song.”

Suddenly he was transported back to the staircase, to their long ago embrace. It struck him that he’d not heard that song since that day. He was unsure how it made him feel. 

“Well,” she began, hauling herself unsteadily to her feet, “I can’t spend my whole life afraid of a stupid song”, she stood in front of him and held out a hand, smiling a wicked smile he’d never seen before, one he hoped had been reserved solely for him. She waggled her fingers at him, beckoning him up. 

“Dance with me?” she asked, quietly. 

He smiled a crinkly grin and slapped his prosthetic, shaking his head. 

“This thing’s not really up for jiving, Robin, sorry.” 

“Just one little sway, for me? Come on,” she grabbed his hand and pulled at him, not taking no for an answer. They’d never held hands before, and this alone was enough to change Cormoran’s mind on dancing completely. She allowed her to haul him up, and he placed one hand tentatively at her waist, and the other shifted to slot more comfortably with her hand. She wound her free hand around the back of his neck, sighing contentedly at the warmth of his body pressed against her. 

Slowly, they began to sway to the rhythm. 

_And maybe, I’ll find out, a way to make it back someday,  
To watch you, to guide you through the darkest of your days_

Robin closed her eyes contentedly, leaning into him. His chest was tight, knees weak. The flood was coursing through him, urging him on. When she inclined her head to rest against his chest, it was almost reflexive to plant the most delicate kiss on her forehead. 

_If I could, then I would  
I’ll go wherever you will go_

After a long moment, she brought her head back up. She peered up at him through sooty black eyelashes. God, she was mesmerising. 

One slight movement was all it took. One small nudge forward and her lips were on his, delicate yet wanting, soft yet passionate, chaste yet hungry. She filled each of his senses to the brim and oh, how gloriously filled they were. His Robin. His. The flood was now an ocean, and he was surfing the crest of the largest waves for the first time. Gone were the days of thrashing beneath the surface. She was here. She was his. 

_Run away with my heart_  
Run away with my hope  
Run away with my love 

The song had long since changed, though neither had noticed. The song didn’t matter any longer, its meaning had been rewritten for them both. They stayed there, swaying in unison, happy in the knowledge that their painful pasts were to be rendered irrelevant to the future they would be soon to embark on, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if this happens to be slightly OOC. I really wanted to try this sort of fic for these two, and I tried to make it as "in character" as possible. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, love yous all x x x


End file.
